A Burning Heart Of Ice
by Kazuya-sama
Summary: This is the story of Kazuya Mishima from after Tekken 1. That is, my interpretation for my Role Play character. At the moment it is rated PG13 for swearing, but later it will become an R, for Jun/Kazuya reasons. Don't be daft, you know what that means!
1. Fragments

A warm gust of wind ruffled the leaves lying on the massive grassy hill two storeys below. Not phased in the slightest by the raven locks of hair blowing in his face, Kazuya Mishima stood leaning over the balcony of the Mishima mansion silently, as still as a statue besides the slight rise and fall of his chest from beneath his business suit. It was a beautiful day indeed; warm weather, cloudless skies…but the beauty was wasted on such a cold soul.

His mind was ordered almost as much as a computer, and equally efficient. Over the last few months he'd begun to change the Mishima Zaibatsu from the most powerful in Japan, to something so much more. And he'd found the job relatively easy too. He never let anything distract him. No one would get in his way any longer. And lately he'd been oddly at peace. Those feelings of hatred, fear, anger…they seemed to have dissolved into nothingness. Of course they were still there, deep down, but they were never called upon. There was no need for them. Instead, there was just the soothing cool of his own calm, with the constant company of the Devil spirit that fed off his soul.

But lately, something had been bothering him. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind, pulling concentration and attention away from his rather important work to itself. And he had no idea what it was, though it was oddly familiar. One thing he knew, the Devil spirit did not like it.

When he felt that feeling, it was around people. He noticed it most when he saw others, and others saw him. It only seemed to be around certain groups of people too, and he couldn't figure out what it was.

The feeling made him think of his painful past. When he shut it out, as he so often did, it left him in peace for a little while, but left him feeling slightly stung, as if by rejection. When he listened to it, he thought of times before the pain began. Times of peace and happiness.

Today, this fine day, he had time to spare. Time to spare on himself, which was an activity he rarely participated in. Everything he'd ever thought about had little to do with his own well-being, his own feelings. Ever since he was betrayed by his own father, nearly twenty years ago, he'd thought of nothing but serving him the same meal. Or so many believed. He'd thought more about being someone else. No one knew this, but he'd kept record of his dreams. As another soft gust of wind blew over the balcony, he remembered a small book of lined paper with artistically written stories and poems scrawled through it in childish writing; fantasy stories, tales of a brave hero that vanquished all those who would betray the trust of a loved one, poems about a boy who was loved by his whole family. Tales of people he would love to have been. He was the only person who knew of this book's existence. He would be the only one ever to know.

As he thought of the book, he thought of what life was like before he decided to create it once again. There were long since unused muscles in his face which had so often been put to work in his younger days which he remembered now with such clarity; his mother had always told him what a lovely smile he had. His mother had played games with him, hugged him when he felt sad, kissed his bruises better…and oddly enough, the magic had always worked, and the pain seemed to fade away with the touch of her lips.

It was a pity she had to die.

For the first time, he moved slightly. He felt his head droop just a little, and his eyes closed. He remembered that fateful day he was thrown off that cliff so well, the scar might as well have never healed, and still be bleeding today. That massive rip across his chest may have healed and faded slightly, but the wound in his mind was still wide-open flesh. Despite the fact that revenge had been served, finally, after all those years of torment, it still hurt. 

And there's that feeling again.

He thought of his mother again, and the feeling grew stronger. It was something resurfacing from so long ago he couldn't even begin to put his finger on it. But before he had the chance to even do that, his attention was caught by something black and white moving on the grass.

He opened his eyes completely again and looked down at the figure. It was a woman. What was she doing here? He squinted slightly, and realised he recognised her face. A completely different feeling washed over him, and he felt like someone kicked his knees out from under him. She disappeared from sight.

Grasping the banister of the balcony firmly in his large hands, he regained his composure, only to realise he was breathing heavily. What was wrong with him? Then the feeling returned, just to confuse him even more. But this time it seemed to mingle with that terrible feeling that made his head spin. The two became one.

He growled deeply in his throat and shook his head. Maybe he just needed some sleep. Oh well, might as well go and investigate the matter of the intruder. He turned and headed off the balcony, and downstairs, to find out exactly what that woman was doing here. He remembered who she was now; that agent from 3WF, Jun Kazama. Great, looks like she's back to get another piece of him. No matter how many times he'd told her otherwise, she was still convinced the Zaibatsu had illegally imported exotic animals at one time or another, and since he was the new CEO, he was responsible for whatever went on, in the past or present.

He saw her wandering around the front of the mansion almost aimlessly, and lightly pushed one of the servants aside as they tried to step in front of the door before he could. Swinging the massive wooden door aside, he simply folded his arms over his chest and raised a brow at Kazama questioningly, ignoring the alarm bells going off in his head for some bizarre reason.


	2. Frozen Flames

Well, that was strange.

Kazuya stared down at the grass before him, his fingers toying with the fabric of his white gi pants. A few hours ago, Jun Kazama had returned to question him once again about the whole animal saga, and the entire time he'd been close to silent. He just didn't feel like being his cold, argumentative self. She had seemed, the whole time, to be almost scared of him…but that was not unusual. He had a reputation for being cold and heartless after all, and he had no reason to show the public anything different.

But for some reason, he…fucked it all up…for a lack of better words. He'd answered all the questions truthfully, that's a given, but why did he have to be so direct? He just blurted the answers out! How could he do that, when in any other situation he would have been cold, cryptic and sarcastic? And worst of all, he spoke like he was scared he'd wake someone up in the next room! He was almost sedated. And the entire time, he wouldn't look at the damn woman's eyes. What was wrong with him?!

For now, he contented himself with meditating beneath a large tree on the front lawn, reviewing the last hour closely and carefully. He hadn't been himself at all, and the whole time he was being questioned, he'd had alarms going off in his head that he shouldn't be there, or doing whatever he was doing. The Devil inside him was badgering him about it too. Of course, when an outburst isn't imminent, the Devil spirit was merely a second consciousness, empathically transferring its thoughts to him, rather than speaking verbally. And that feeling from before was almost blindingly strong. 

Then he realised what it was.

His eyes snapped open. He'd felt like that when he'd been close to his…mother. He'd felt like he could trust. He felt he was allowed to be there. He felt like he was accepted, that he was good enough, that he was worthy of the air he breathed. It was an odd heartache that accompanied relief at times, and in the very distant past, happiness and satisfaction. 

But why her?

Sighing, he closed his eyes again and ignored the feeling. Pushed it away, out of his mind. He didn't need it. It got in the way. Besides, it would just result in him feeling more pain. 

Emotions are weakness, Kazuya. You cannot control your emotions; you laugh and cry and scream with rage like a small child. You are weak.

The words stung like they did in the past. But outwardly, no one would guess they'd hurt him. The façade of ice never let those feelings show. They were weakness, were they not? He was not weak. The world _had_ to believe it. He knew people feared him, and that meant that he was not weak, like his father had drummed into him since he was younger. Literally. The scar on his chest was the most obvious, but unless one looked closely, they would not even notice the other smaller scars littering his muscular body. Little reminders of his childhood.

Pain. That's all he knew. Physical pain, mental pain. Spiritual pain. He lived in a state of anguish. But it was a silent agony no one but himself was aware of.

Something he wasn't aware of, however, was a pair of dark eyes watching him. They saw him, but he didn't see them from where he was sitting. They watched him carefully, deeply. They watched his own, though his didn't meet them. Unlike any eyes, these could see through the thin barrier of coldness to a small degree. They saw the emptiness, as quite a few had, but they also saw within the emptiness. There was a strange loneliness in that emptiness. And those eyes watching him felt a strange compassion for him.

He sighed and picked himself up, and headed back inside. It was beginning to grow dark after all, and he intended to get a little sleep tonight.

The eyes watched him until he could no longer be seen. It was just as suspected…there was no one to greet him as he went inside, just as there'd been no one for him to really even talk to during the recent tournament. But then again, was that such a surprise? Such a cold, evil man. Cold-blooded, heartless, cruel. Tortured people for fun, so said the rumours of him. But how strange that seemed, when a simple stare into his eyes revealed that he would not know the meaning of fun. How cruel stereotypes were, and often, how untrue. She felt destined to uncover the mystery behind this lonely man.


End file.
